Swords Rust, Not Rot
by Ludella
Summary: Even criminals were allowed to be put in prisons. Though a thousand years late, a villain was no different.


It was so ironic. The way things had turned out, one would think the sword more of a villain than the one who had wielded him for so long to do "evil" work, despite how loosely the word was thrown about. Fate truly had it against him, Ghirahim pondered, as it had for the past few thousand years. The small window of time in which he'd been in his true form, his intended form in his master's hand, were the memories which he kept closest. The only ones truly worth remembering, in a way. And in a place like this, where everything but that warmth of a familiar hand was slowly fading from his mind, it was all he could count on.

The battle had ended some time ago. It could have been days, could have been years, centuries, millennia, and he wouldn't have known. It was a sort of fate that sword spirits were doomed to, this inability to measure time. He figured it may actually be useful. It was dreadful trying to count the days in which he was apart from and the days until he'd return to his master, having to wait… there were more important things to do. Alas, those things needing to be done were really… unable to be accomplished as things were at the moment.

He had heard the entire event as it took place, mourned the last words of his master in his superior form, and felt the dark metal of his blade go cold once dropped. The boy who had come to ruin everything, destroy everything, created such an unnecessary chaos that it was a _miracle_ he hadn't killed himself along the way-that child had left without a second thought, not even to give a glance back. It was as if humans had no respect for those of higher purpose, that even giving an honored bow or just another thought was too much.

Well, Ghirahim supposed he should be thankful for it, as it was in fact what had allowed him to remain, though it also meant leaving his master's side. That was, perhaps, the largest downside to his survival; he was now apart from and without any means of searching for the hand he had been made to serve.

Yes, as fate would have it, as Demise's damned body was dismantled, particle by particle, and joined with the divinity of the Master Sword's white steel, Ghirahim had been left behind. The portal to the realm closed, and as it did, Ghirahim swore that it had been the last of Demise's power that had transferred him to the outside world once again. Buried beneath a horrid amount of rubble, but saved nevertheless.

And conscious.

Fi had been quite the lucky one to be able to sleep for eternity as she was; he envied her, truly and honestly. The only thing she would ever feel for the rest of existence would be her master's hand on her hilt, just as things should be, just as they were _intended_ to be. Yet here was Ghirahim, of almost exact build as the Goddess Sword, still awake, and still _feeling_.

It wasn't as if he was unable to revert back to his human-esque form once Demise had left. Rather, without any reason to move about the world, he remained in his true form, but a simple blade beneath rubble and dust. Had he any cares left-why, he'd be quite ashamed of his current state. And somehow, he managed to go without the loss of pride. But what would it matter anymore?

When something in the cave stirred for the first time, he would have been surprised, if he were capable of such emotions. At first it was simply the sound of rocks being pushed aside, going away as whatever it was traveled in the other direction before finally wandering back to the area Ghirahim laid. He remained there, waiting, perfectly aware of who it was; he had felt the boy's stare at his back enough times to be able to sense him before he was even in sight. The smell of divinity had long since left his body, though the air of a hero still lingered over him even though he had put away most of those sacred treasures years ago. Not that Ghirahim would know-it could be either the day after the battle or centuries, and it wouldn't have mattered.

The faintest, dimmest light cast shapes of orange over his hilt through the cracks in the rocks, and it was the first color besides brown or black he had seen since his fall. The boulders which created a small shelter above him began to move, pouring heaps of dust over his blade as they were disturbed. He knew he wouldn't remain in this pit forever, though he could never put any logic or reason behind why he was so sure. Intuition, maybe, or simple trust that his master had more intended for him than to let him remain and rust for as long as the world, and he, existed.

Now he could feel no anticipation, no excitement or surprise as he may have long ago. It was time that allowed Ghirahim to develop such strong emotions as he was left to squander the ground on his own, and now it was time that seemed to be draining those very feelings from him. More than anything, he felt… anger. An urge for revenge, to pay back what had been done to his king. But he knew he couldn't act upon it in the state he currently was.

Of course, once an opportunity was presented, the situation changed. The rubble above him began to disappear as it was pushed aside, and Ghirahim laid still, listening to the labored breaths that came with the sound of rocks colliding. The boy's words had been spoken in few numbers, and the times he did speak came with large periods of time between them. He was much more accustomed to hearing him exhausted like this anyways. Exerting physical strength as he had in every battle. Each time they met.

He took a moment to think, not having had to speak in quite a while. The foreign sound of his own voice was almost enough to surprise himself. "The sky is where you belong, much less beneath the ground. Why don't you just return?"

Still wearing green, he thought in amusement, and still just as childlike. Short, too, but that came with the latter. Ghirahim felt something like relief as the large weights were lifted off of him, allowing him movement if he so desired, which he did not. The battle was over. What use would a human form be now if just to speak?

Though he knew they were there, staring straight through him, Ghirahim couldn't make out any pair of eyes on the features presented. There was a light in his hand, what seemed to be a sort of torch or lantern, but his vision was still so dark. And it'd been so long since he'd seen a human face, he'd just about forgotten what they'd appeared as. What a familiar one to be greeted with after such a time, he noted inwardly with a sort of sick satisfaction.

"You don't have a place down here either."

"A true diamond in the rough, am I not?"

Link leaned down next to the pile of rubble the mechanic voice spoke from, the light of his lantern reflecting cleanly off the metal even after being abandoned for so long. In a way, it was beyond surreal to go on a personal quest after having only following prophecy. Even more was that it was to retrieve the very sword that, had he made one wrong move at that time, would have cleanly torn him to pieces. After the many battles they'd fought, this would be the first conversation they ever had without malicious intentions.

Carefully, he began to push some of the larger rocks that remained on top of him to the side. As Link remained quiet, Ghirahim continued to speak. "The fact that you're here implies you've returned to your own time, and that it's been many years since the sentencing of my king. For all you knew, I could have been miles below the surface if I was even intact at all. Who's to say I didn't return to that Master Sword with Demise? It's certainly possible."

Again, met with stale silence. Either way, he had gotten used to the boy's lack of dialogue a long while ago. It was rare that he spoke at all, as he understood. It didn't matter in the end; Ghirahim much rather preferred the sound of his own voice compared to anybody else.

Link continued to clean the debris off of him, finally having heaved the heaviest obstacles out of the way and now merely clearing fist-sized rocks and pebbles off. The first time his fingers brushed against the cold metal, Ghirahim felt something curious within him stir. Of course, it was the first touch he had felt in now what was revealed to be thousands of years, as well as the first time Link had made contact with his true form other than with the Master Sword. There was no physical reaction to be made, and he allowed no more than an amused hum at the silence he was paid as response.

When he made a move to grab his hilt with both hands, Ghirahim quickly emitted a dull red light to stop him. "I'm far too great for someone of your mortal stature to carry. Allow me," he spoke again, causing Link to pull back his hands rather obediently. A few moments passed by without any event, and Ghirahim was nearly grateful for Link's preference to keep quiet, preventing any unnecessary questions from being presented. For the first time, it was a matter of himself being too weak to work immediately, and he was undoubtedly ashamed. As if he would let the little hero in on that, though.

A much brighter light finally covered the cave briefly, and in place of the sword, Ghirahim sat in his spirit form instead. He could understand surprise from Link's face as he stumbled back, though only for a moment before he composed himself and reproached the demon peering up at him.

"Lead the way, Sky Child."

As it turned out, Link actually had a plan as to where they were headed. Ghirahim would not question the means by which he had found anything in this desolate place and for what reason he would deem it necessary. However, there was not much that he could say to refuse him. There was no backing away, no rejection in favor of remaining stationary for eternity, not when faced with the goddess's tool. If it were this boy, then the only explanation could be fate.

The path had already been cleared by what Ghirahim could only assume to have been the hero himself. He followed without a word, needing none, though he made enough noise with the loud clanging of his feet against the rock. For the first few steps he noticed Link frequently glancing down at Ghirahim's legs and feet, a quizzical expression sitting firm on his features.

"You thought it was light, didn't you." It wasn't a question as much as an assumption that hardly caught him off guard, though Link turned his head to Ghirahim in a gesture for him to continue. "The Goddess's Sword-it was light on your fingers, perfectly weak and perfectly frail for any mortal." A nod. "We're different. She was made for mortal use, and I crafted more appropriately for the demon king himself."

"That wasn't what I was thinking." At the interruption, Ghirahim cut himself off from the tangent he'd vainly begun. Link stared back at him neutrally, eventually giving another nod in his direction. "It's become darker-the stone."

He had half a mind to snap at the boy on how peculiar those short sentences were and the irritation it brought about within him. However, the words themselves were enough to catch his attention from it. Ghirahim followed his eyes to his own chest where Demise had planted the bright red gem that was both his greatest strength and weakness. This description was incorrect now, he noticed, not having registered the cracks spread through it and the dirtier black hue it had taken. Only when staring carefully could a hint of red be seen within it.

Ghirahim felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. "As was a result of you not only breaking my core but dismantling the source at which it derived power from as well. Such a _shame_; it was my charm point," he hissed, grin falling back into a scowl before Link redirected his attention back to the path ahead of them.

A much longer silence fell over the scene then, filled only with nearly tangible malice. Ignoring it, Link continued to walk ahead, holding his lantern as their only light through the cavern. Ghirahim hadn't been aware the area he'd taken rest in was as deep as it revealed itself to be, having expected more of a simple ditch covered over with a thousand years' worth of rubble. The fact that it was showing to be a proper cave of sorts brought something like a satisfied feeling within him-how ironically _fitting_.

At two hours marking, Link attached the light to his hip as they approached a wall made up of rocks stacked on top of each other. Slowly, he took the mound apart with more care than he had seen before, always used to the warrior simply breaking everything down with bombs and his sword and the like. This was it, then, Ghirahim concluded, watching Link set each stone carefully aside; the only reason to be this cautious was if he planned to use those rocks again.

"Here," Link announced curtly as the passage was cleared, turning to glance back at Ghirahim only to stare instead. The person standing there was not the one who had risen from the sword a small while ago, and before Link could fully process the different form he had taken, Ghirahim waltzed right past him and into the grotto ahead.

"I can understand your surprise, as it has been quite a while since you've seen my perfection. However, I ask you not to show it; this is, after all, the form you most associate me with, is it not?" The autotuned tone had been lost, replaced now with the sultry, devilish voice Link swore had haunted him in more dreams than one, causing an uncomfortable shudder to raise his skin. Per usual, Link proceeded without a word after him.

The area was nothing different from the rest of the cave, save the fact that it was a more open space. Whether the boulders had been cleared away or were naturally absent to begin with, Ghirahim couldn't tell, nor did he particularly care. He took his luxurious time in examining the place at a lethargic amble, all while avoiding the naturally raised platform in the back-center of the room.

He spoke before Link could even try, not looking back at him while doing so. "This is very far from a good-bye," Ghirahim began, never stopping in his strides. "In a hundred years, two hundred years, three, four, whatever time fate may decide-we're destined to continue meeting. You knew that, didn't you?"

Link's eyes narrowed on his form across the way and he started towards him. Only now did Ghirahim notice that, though adorned in his usual green attire, he was missing any sword. "I'm more concerned with assisting Zelda and the new kingdom, now." The assurance with which he spoke nearly caught Ghirahim off-guard, though not without first bringing a sly grin to his face.

"Even that is irrelevant. Don't you get it?" Ghirahim stopped his sauntering around the small clearing. From how was struggling not to hold onto the wall to support himself, Link couldn't help but to pity his situation all the more, despite the ever present pompous tone to his words. "The bond between the _dazzling_ princess and her strong, courageous, _dashing_ knight is only temporary. Once you both die and return to dust, it's broken, albeit returned when you're born again."

Lowering his head, Link squinted his eyes up at Ghirahim in slight confusion. "I can't follow your logic."

"My, it's endearing how your little head constantly wonders of me!" Ghirahim laughed aloud, though the action only made him feel more lightheaded. "It's rather simple; I'll never die. While your soul wanders through the nether, waiting for a time to plant itself once again-it will be _I_ who calls you back to the land of the living. This bond we hold, this connection, will never die. It'll only stand through periods of frailty and vitality, don't you agree?"

There wasn't any way Link could respond. While the weight of the situation had always been on his shoulders, many times he had attempted to shy away from imagining the larger picture in favor of focusing on the present. And here, Ghirahim was illustrating it with vivid color. The uncomfortable look showed on his face for just a moment before he returned to a neutral expression, continuing towards the center of the room.

"At that time, I don't expect you'll be able to recognize my form," Ghirahim went on, "but I shall be omnipresent, nevertheless. And then, once again, you and I shall embrace in a more intimate waltz no other form of passion could dare to match," he spoke wistfully, reminding Link of their encounter in the fire sanctuary. Link realized then that Ghirahim hadn't made any cinematic flourishes or hand gestures, a trademark characteristic that at the time had only further fueled his irritation. Now, he nearly missed them-or, more precisely, the other's liveliness.

He anticipated Ghirahim to disappear from sight at that moment only to return right behind him, grabbing his shoulders to whisper a few dramatic words into his ear before vanishing again. Though the times they had encountered each other were relatively few in number, he had become somehow accustomed to expecting his actions from battle alone.

But this time he was able to keep his eyes on the man in one place. Ghirahim stayed completely still, his posture much less elegant than he'd ever presented himself. Just from being so far from his master and still recovering from the wounds of the battle, Link could see his legs were weak, his back hunched with his hand on a boulder to keep himself upright in the human form he was forcing himself to keep up. Slowly, Ghirahim finally turned around, a roguish smile on his face sending chills down Link's spine.

"A battle of life and death."

As another silence fell, Link nearly expected himself to be assaulted right then and there. He'd grown quite accustomed to jumping right into action after such definitive, final lines. Instead, Ghirahim stayed where he was, swaying a bit before he finally began to wander again with Link as his destination. His head hung uncharacteristically low, and the skin chipping away at his shoulders to reveal his naturally charred skin spoke miles of how exhausted he truly was. "You're at your limit," Link noted aloud, earning a loud laugh out of the demon.

"How observant. I'm sure your little guard can breathe a sigh of relief with you in their ranks!" Link scowled at the obvious mockery, face scrunching up for a moment before Ghirahim was standing still in front of him, just a few meters apart. At this proximity he could hear his breathing much more clearly, not difficult with how heavy and labored it was. An ache of pity rose to his chest-no, not pity, sympathy? Or perhaps it was even simpler than that, something he wouldn't normally associate with a creature such as the one before him.

"Once I go to-rest," he struggled to say after a minute, trying to regain his posture, "I will be only aware of the presences of my master and you. Swear on it." Link's brows raised a bit in surprise at the unfinished sentence. A request-from Ghirahim, no less? No, it sounded more like he was asking for reassurance, appeared like it too, barely standing straight in a world where his power source was sealed away in trace amounts.

"To what-"

"That when I feel the hand of my master-inevitable as it is-each time, you will soon reappear and challenge me in battle, once again."

The cool of the cave they were in sank into Link's bones at that point. The lantern he held could barely illuminate the clearing that they were in, and the features on Ghirahim it brought emphasis to made for a much less intimidating figure than he was accustomed to viewing. That may in fact be what made it so frightening. However, he wasn't the wielder of courage for the title alone. Gradually, he took a few cautious steps forward, completing the gap between them once Ghirahim made no move against it.

"When I am long asleep, and you can no longer retrieve your memories of past lives-"

"We'll battle," Link finished for him, determined eyes set on his lowered face. "Once again."

Ghirahim's grin stretched to show two full rows of teeth behind his white lips, straightening himself up more properly as Link came within arm's reach of him. "Then that's all there's left to say," he said in less of a whisper than a weak voice, having gone past the remains of his strength a while ago. How he was hunched over, he was just about Link's normal height now, and it was just enough of gap for Link to finally reach over for his face-

Just to have his hand slapped away.

"You've never touched me."

"You've always been the first to make contact," Link corrected him, not lowering his hand in the air. He hadn't really been shoved away hard, as much as he was simply reacting to the gesture that'd been made.

"So I'll just be the first again." Words spoken so smoothly, Link was inclined to believe he'd planned the entire situation out. If he had to give props to Ghirahim for only one thing, it was composure, appearing more times than not as if everything were in his hands, and if not, then nothing he could not correct. It was something to respect.

However, Link didn't particularly get the chance to think on it for too long. The second thing that Ghirahim was so talented at was surprises, and if the kiss he received wasn't one, then the harsh bite to his lip served enough. It was only for a moment, and were his lip not bleeding painfully afterwards, Link may have believed it'd never happened at all. Ghirahim was smirking lewdly, a bit of red visible on his otherwise white lips before a long tongue quickly slipped out to wipe it off. Link kept a hand at his mouth to wipe at the blood dribbling down just as the other turned and began to walk away.

"Be gone," he spoke more clearly, voice now loud enough to echo across the empty space, "your work here's finished, Link."

Link understood the intentions behind his words, and silently began to back away though his eyes didn't leave Ghirahim's retreating back. He'd made it to the center on his own, not looking back at the hero. From here on, Ghirahim would enter his own sleep in preparation for the rest of eternity. The thought made Link's chest ache similarly to how he'd reacted to Fi, listening to her monotone voice recite her fate. However, he couldn't help but to pity (if it even _was_ pity at this point) Ghirahim even more, with how broken he simply appeared from the angle he stood, patches of skin having fallen to the floor as he walked and was covered by what appear to be a dark-brown crystalline coat.

He knew Ghirahim most likely did not want to have Link watch him go to rest, to show that vulnerable form to him, as well as there simply needing to be an ending somewhere. For a sword, he couldn't imagine a more devastating moment, and Link was not someone worthy of watching the event. Knowing this, he finally turned his back to the rest of the clearing that would serve as his temple until Link's next birth, gradually changing and taking new shape until the next monster came to take hold of the dark power.

And he left. Because in the end, there _was_ nothing else to say. There was nothing to worry about, and nothing left to do. He could not prepare for a new life he did not know, and he could do nothing to stop the curse that'd been promised to him.

Bringing his lantern back up, Link began to make his way out of the cavern. There was enough in this life that he'd yet to accomplish already; the matter of deciding what sort of government they would use on this new land, how they would function in such an open world, and the like. Only Link, Zelda, and Groose (to an extent) knew what the outside world held, and they'd become the most valuable and important assets to establishing their new life.

In this time, he was still needed, and there were still duties waiting to be fulfilled. What happened in this cave would remain here, as he had no choice but to leave it as it was for the rest of time. There was something of an unspoken law that he could not return to the domain, knowing that it was no longer his place to step; he had no right.

As the natural sunlight began to shine through the opening of the cave, Link stepped back into the world of light, extinguishing his lantern and setting it back at his hip. There was no use in thinking about what had happened now that he was on his own land again.

In this time, Link was no longer a needed hero, and Ghirahim was no longer his villain. The world was in no imminent danger, and the Goddess had left the stage. Even so, he didn't feel incomplete, simply leaving things off like that without any formal parting. Things were left unsettled solely for the fact that they were, indeed, not yet finished.

An ordinary knight, Link returned to the village to continue his patrol, though never fully accustomed to the simple, calm life he was allowed, nor would he be for the rest of his years. He was unable to ever regret it though, with the full knowledge that, in another life, he'd pick up his sword once again. It was the only fate he'd ever be able to feel complete living, even if he would never remember it, nor the demon he was sentenced to fight for eternity. Bound by that string of fate, wasn't it?

In a way, Link looked forward to it.


End file.
